Page 42 of Dr. Bad Boy

“Do you want me to come back so we can talk?”

An eager nod is all I need. I crush my mouth against hers, going straight for the taste of her, my tongue tracing her lower lip, then I catch it between my teeth. She tastes like sweet wine and warm skin, and she’s soft and pliant.

I release her flesh and push deeper. She opens for me, her tongue touching mine eagerly, just for a second, before softening for my onslaught.

Biddable from the word go.

We’re going to have so much fun. Tomorrow.

I tell myself to stop tasting her, to stop fucking my tongue into her mouth, but I can’t just yet. Her mouth is hot and wet, and she’s making this little sound at the back of her throat that makes me want to grind against her.

Push her until that sound erupts and she has to bite her lip hard to keep it inside.

I want to kiss down her neck and cover her mouth and hold her against the door when she comes.

I want any number of filthy scenarios, none of which are acceptable to play out in her hallway because I’m her client.

Whatever we do next, it has to be inside.

And tomorrow.

I shove myself away from her long enough to see her eyes glitter in confusion, then I pull closer again, winding my fingers in her hair. “Sleep on this,” I say quietly, my breath ragged as I loom over her. “Be sure of what you want. Because I want everything.”

13

Violet

Besure of what I want.

What does that even mean, when I’m pretty sure Max can imagine a whole host of kinky shenanigans that I can’t even name?

I don’t know what I want, beyond…

I want him.

I don’t want to lose my job.

But that’s not what he’s talking about and I know it.

He’s talking about limits. Hard and soft.

I shiver as I imagine more of Max, without the tight boundaries of an anonymous one-night stand.

Max, prepared with a hit-list of Domly things that push me right to the edge of my comfort zone.

I spend the next morning making, erasing, and re-writing imaginary lists in my head.

Yes to spanking—yesplease, in fact—and also to any similar level of impact play. No to sharps and drawing blood. The darker corners of my mind wonder how far Max’s kink goes, and how I might feel about breath play, true punishment, extended power exchanges…

A knock at the door jerks me out of my thoughts. I glance at the clock. Unless he decided to skip hockey again, that’s not Max.

The knock comes again, this time followed by a playful series of drumming knocks that sound vaguely like a song.

I roll my eyes. Matthew.

I open the door and gesture for my next door neighbour to come in and make himself at home. He would anyway, though.

We’ve been friends since the day I moved in and he brought him cookies that the guy he’d been seeing at the time had baked for him. Matthew was training for a weight-lifting competition at the time. They didn’t date for much longer.

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